


Matter of Chance

by murdergatsby



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Ending, Dark Will, Gen, Mizumono, Mizumono rewrite, more like a panic induced hallucination before the rug was ACTUALLY ripped out from under me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-29
Updated: 2016-02-29
Packaged: 2018-05-23 11:16:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6114814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/murdergatsby/pseuds/murdergatsby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>From the corner of her eye, Alana saw something move in the dark. She pointed her gun at the figure as their form became clear in the light from the window.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“Will?”</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Matter of Chance

**Author's Note:**

> “Has he ever tried to persuade you to kill anybody? He will. And it will be somebody you love. And you will think it's the only choice you have.” - Dr. Bedelia Du Maurier

She would feel more comfortable with her arms crossed tightly over her chest, she thought, but the jacket she wore wasn’t made for the rain. Instead, she clutched at the handle of her umbrella as if it were a live grenade. The deluge of water that struck against the nylon shield made a sound that entrapped her own heartbeat to its chaotic pattern. She appreciated the rain for that; she didn’t know what her heart would be up to if left on its own.

Alana reached the front door of Hannibal Lecter’s home with the same surprising bluntness one would feel from walking straight into a brick wall. It seemed so far away before, when she had begun the turn down his walkway, but now it was right there in front of her. She was steps away from an entryway she had entered a hundred times before; a home that held some of the only memories of happiness she had experienced in months, and a home that quite possibly could be the resting place of at least one of her closest friends; only one, if luck had her tonight.

The door was cracked open with carelessness and, faintly, she could hear the sounds of a struggle. She felt surprised but she didn’t know why. She knew what Jack was here to do and she knew what she was here to do. There was nothing more to be surprised about her situation. Not anymore.

Carefully, she closed her umbrella and laid it against the stone outside. Initially her thoughts regarding the matter were “Best to not track water into Hannibal’s home” but she trembled to think of how late it was to care about that kind of courtesy.

She pulled her phone up to her face and strained to make out what things, _what friends_ the distinct sounds were coming from as she called the police.

“I’d like to report gun shots.” She said. Her voice sounded, felt, and tasted alien to her. There was bashing, choking, and the sound of metal on stone coming from inside Hannibal’s home. She pulled the gun from her small purse- loaded with 9 millimeter rounds just as Will had told her. She bought a box, she found a range, and she’d been practicing.

_“You should be afraid.”_ He said, and she was then just as much as she was now. It wasn’t the same strain of fear she currently felt, but it had flavors of the same betrayal, the same anxieties, the same cool breeze that brushed up on her skin like needles, and the same open door with no invitation to come inside.

_“Whoever you are afraid of, don’t be afraid to use it.”_

The air became even colder around her when she entered the foyer, like a frozen lake swallowing her whole and sealing up her only escape. She had made the walk from the front door to the kitchen enough times to locate exactly where the sounds were coming from, but it was a very different walk for her now that she was submerged like this. Her feet were heavy and her head was light but she held herself together until she could see Hannibal, ramming himself into the door to his pantry.

His shirt was covered in blood but she could find no dark spots where the worst of it was. It wasn’t his blood; it wasn’t coming from him.

Hannibal was moving like a wild cat, pacing in his enclosure until he was of a decent distance away to charge back at the door. He leaped from the ground and crushed his shoulder into the wood. Alana could see the wood bend under his force but it snapped right back. She couldn’t imagine that it would be able to keep that up for long, though. Will couldn’t. She couldn’t.

“Hannibal.” She felt herself say. It wasn’t more than a whisper that drew it’s calligraphy from her heart, rather than her lungs. It was too quiet for her to hear over the pounding in her chest and she wondered if Hannibal’s heart was pounding just as loudly.

Hannibal didn’t react to her hushed call. His only movement was to turn from the door and run to it again. This jump took his weaponized shoulder nearly over the frame and Alana felt her chest seize.

“Hannibal!” She let her already tight lungs compress to make a sound louder than she thought capable, and called to him again.

This time, Hannibal stopped and sighed deeply as if he were catching his breath. His hands came down calmly at his sides, each holding its own kitchen knife. One was much longer than the other and was under the influence of Hannibal’s dominant hand. It was so uncomfortable to see him stand so comfortably with all these horrid things around him.

Slowly and expectantly, Hannibal turned to face Alana. She still stood in the hall, with her hands outstretched as an extension of her gun.  She couldn’t bring herself to cross the floor that would bring her into the actual kitchen. She knew she couldn’t be in the same room with him.

“Where’s Jack?” She asked. Her lips played over the words before she found just the right ones; She had so many questions and she knew she was running out of time to get the answers. She was whispering again.

Hannibal’s face was covered in as much blood as his shirt; dark strands fell from his nose and lined his upper lip in messy splotches, his bottom lip was cracked in a straight line, and the side of his face wore a drying red palm print. Despite the blood he seemed just as calm as always, if not just the tiniest bit disheveled. His face reminded Alana of one she may wear if walked in on while doing something embarrassing.

_Does Hannibal find this embarrassing?_

Hannibal lowered his shoulder at her, as if he were leaning in to share a secret. “In the pantry.” He spat, in a harsh and sarcastic whisper that was mocking her own. 

For a moment the two of them stared at one another, snatched by silence for two very different reasons; Alana couldn’t make the words come from her, and Hannibal was without any need for conversation. If Hannibal hadn’t been so sure that Alana would shout at him again he would have gone back to beating on the door down.

Softly, a smile made its way on to Hannibal’s lips. “I was hoping you and I wouldn’t have to say goodbye.” He each inhale he made was a concentrated gasp for air, making him appear so much calmer than he felt. “Nothing seen, nor said.” He continued. His demeanor implied sadness but nothing of his words pulled on Alana’s heart strings. “You may have found that rude.” His final syllable finished quickly and suddenly. He took an aggressive step in Alana’s direction.

“Stop!” Alana shouted, finding balance in her voice again. She tightened her hands on her gun, making the muscles in her arms twitch from the sudden contraction. Fear was pulling her deeper and deeper into her own thoughts; fears of having to shoot a co-worker, a friend, someone she loved and shared a bed with- as well as the toxic fear of missing.

Hannibal stopped, per-request. His head cocked slightly to the side in curiosity- a very familiar feeling to him.

Alana’s lips were trembling. Her eye lids were working overtime to blink away the tears collecting in their corners. “I was so blind.” She whispered to him. The words made her head spin and she thought she may faint. She hoped she wouldn’t.

Hannibal took in another deep breath and pulled his lip into his teeth. “In your defense,” He said, letting his lip rest back where it belonged. “I worked very hard to blind you.” He paused to look Alana up and down. In that moment he looked believably sad, and nearly heartbroken. “You can stay blind.” He suggested. “You can hide from this. Walk away. I’ll make no plans to call on you….But if you stay,” His lips crawled up his teeth like an angry dog, baring them for Alana. It was only the smallest of movements, a flicker even, before his lips came to rest over his teeth again.

Regardless, the sight made Alana see and feel Hannibal’s teeth closing around her throat.

“I will kill you.”

Alana’s voice ran from her. She wanted nothing more than to follow it. What Hannibal was asking of her though, it was impossible.

In the time it took her to pull her retreating consciousness back into the real world, Hannibal found the time to shrug. “Be blind, Alana. Don’t be brave.” He said. His voice had a finale about it; Alana knew it was her last chance.

It took her 15 seconds to pull the trigger, but the gun didn’t fire. Instead a hollow click cleared the tension in the room, and cleared the noise in her head- Just a click, not a bang.

Hannibal’s face contorted quickly into an angry, disappointed frown.

Alana pulled the trigger two more times hoping for anything to cut through the air and land in Hannibal’s flesh. Still, only the click of the hammer could be heard. Now she couldn’t even hear her heart beat.

“I took your bullets.” Hannibal’s tone had a growl to it that Alana had only ever heard in her darkest nightmares.

He was furious. Each click of Alana’s gun was a knife in his back. _I gave you a way out._ He took a deep breath inward and swallowed it, gulping it down with his hurt.

Alana attempted to fire the gun two more times before Hannibal couldn’t find it within him to stay stationary. With purpose, with hostility and intent, Hannibal began marching towards her. Alana turned and ran as fast as her body would let her move. She ran past the door, her only exit, and couldn’t find space in her panic to turn back and run outside. Instead, she made way for the stairs. She figured, if she could get enough space between herself and Hannibal then, maybe…

Hannibal never picked up speed. He walked from the kitchen, to the stairs. He had confidence in his home. He knew it better than Alana and he knew she couldn’t outrun him in here. He imagined what it would be like to snap her neck, while she was facing him and looking up at him with her gemstone eyes. The prospect made him smile until her eyes became **_his_** and he had to fight to regain his focus. Now wasn't the time to worry about Will.

Alana had made her way to the second round of stairs by the time Hannibal had started climbing the first. He had left his knives in a chair downstairs and Alana caught it as she glanced over her shoulder. It didn’t make her feel safer.

At the top of the second set of stairs, Alana located a room to barricade herself in. She ran in with complete abandon but the second she heard the lock click into place, she found a small window of calm. Fumbling, she found her box of bullets and reloaded her gun.

She could barely make out the sounds of Hannibal’s footsteps as he reached the door. He sighed at it with stress. Although, his face wore no stress but only exhaustion. 

Upon hearing him, Alana spun towards the door. She fired her gun at it, this time receiving the ever satisfying bang that her ears were ringing for. The bullets pierced through the wood of the door, letting her look through like a peep hole.

“I found more bullets!” She shouted, a tormented laugh coating the lining of her throat. She could see something moving behind the holes in the door, interrupting the light from the hall outside. She shot again, right into the darkness. The piercings in the door made a triangle and the shadow stepped aside. Her arms were heavy but she didn’t lower her gun. She couldn’t lower her gun.

She gasped for the air she lost while running. She could feel the tears welling in her eyes but for some reason they wouldn’t fall; they stacked behind her eyelids like bricks and boulders.

From the corner of her eye, she saw something move in the dark. Slowly she became aware of the suffocating energy of the second person she shared the room with and turned her gun from the door with promptness. She pointed it at the figure as their form became clearer in the light from the window.

“Will?” Alana huffed. Disbelief pulled on her bottom jaw until it was hanging towards the floor.

Will nodded and raised a hand towards her. “It’s okay.” He said as he closed the distance between them. He stopped only when his hand was on top of Alana’s gun. “It’s okay.”

Alana wanted to collapse into him. Her arm and gun dropped to her side as if Will’s hand was made of lead. She looked up at him and tried to keep away every memory his face brought back to her. His eyes were just as wet as hers but he seemed so calm, so together, especially when she thought to compare himself to her.

“J-Jack.” She managed to stutter out. “Hannibal k-killed J-Jack.” Her voice was hiccupping, breaking. As she said it, she imagined it; Jack laying on the dark hardwood, full of knives and glass. Hysterical didn’t fit her feelings anymore.

Will shut his eyes and a single tear dropped down his cheek. He nodded, his voice wincing up like he was in physical pain. “Give me the gun.” He whispered. He pulled his lips together tightly and gulped away all the horror from his face. When he reopened his eyes, he was smiling. It wasn’t is real smile, though. He wasn’t sure he still knew how to create that expression.

Will left his hand on top of Alana’s until she talked herself into releasing the metal. He let his hand then hang uneventfully at his side.

Alana looked down and away from him as the tears finally began to fall. Their escape made her feel relief but she knew it could only be temporary. Will took his one free hand and cautiously cupped her cheek. Her led her eyes back to his and found his real smile. He wanted it to make her smile back but she wasn’t in the place. Instead, he circled his thumb over the bud of her cheek bone, whipping away tiny droplets of salt and fear.

“What are you going to do?” Alana asked.

Will shrugged his shoulders. “What I have to do.”

Alana nodded and closed her eyes. “I’m so sorry, Will.”

Will digested her words and nodded back to her. “I’m sorry, too.” His eyes left her as soon as his statement was over with, and lifted to the holes in the door. They were black.

The door swung open with a crack. Hannibal’s leg entered first, kicking through the lock with one fatal movement. Alana turned to look, eyes now wide and body trembling. She hardly had time to see him before she felt the resistance Will’s hand was causing, as he pulled her gaze back to his. Her brow furrowed and she tried to shake his hand off.

Will moved smoothly and without another word. He moved his hand from Alana’s cheek to her arm and dropped the gun to the ground to do the same with his other hand, on her other arm. He lifted her, turned her, and tossed her through the window.

For Alana, everything was slow. She had time to think about the sound the glass made against her body as it shattered behind her. She had time to memorize the details of Will’s expression, something lost between sorrow and hatred. She had time to realize it was the same expression Hannibal wore downstairs. She had time to consider what would kill her faster, the fall or the rain that would fill her lungs.

Her life didn’t flash before her as she expected. Instead, she just got one moment in time that played again, and again.

_“I told everyone Hannibal was a killer and no one believed me, just like no one would believe you if you said I was a killer.”_

The closer she came to the ground the louder Will’s voice became. The sentence repeated and overlapped. It was thunderous and massive. Then, she hit the ground.

She couldn’t move her limbs, she couldn’t even turn her head. All she could do was look up to where she had fallen from and listen to the pattering of the rain as it fell on her face and the cement around her.

_“I don’t think Hannibal is good for you and I think your relationship is destructive.”_

_“Hannibal is good enough for you.”_

**Author's Note:**

> This whole shabang exists because, during my first watch of Mizumono, the back of Abigail's head looked like Will. I panicked. This was me coping. I had to watch this scene a lot in order to write, SO I REALLY HOPE SOMEONE OUT THERE ENJOYS IT.


End file.
